for all she knows
by sleepyaugustus
Summary: percabeth for: "my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he's coming to the next holiday party and don't worry he's heard all about me too and ALSO there's this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude's got a good dick AU" :: light M


**for all she knows**

* * *

Maybe if her mind wasn't floating in the clouds of sexual temptation and deep rooted insecurities, she'd have made the connection sooner.

Although, Jackson's a pretty popular last name, and what could the odds have been—other than grossly stacked against her? Admittedly, her luck is virtually nonexistent when it comes to anything that _matters_ , along with the tolerance she has for most males her age—which, she'll argue, adequately describes the absolute _rarity_ of her finding a gem like him in the first place.

His ridiculous stamina and soft green eyes make her knees go weak, but what she's found the most appreciable about her late night sexter is that he is, without fail, the most reliable form of comfort she's ever been met with.

Even if she never caught his first name, she still thought he had to have been the best fuck she's ever had, with an even more impressive secret hidden beneath the zipper of his scuffed up jeans.

It was just too good a deal. _That_ much was evident from the start.

* * *

"Why don't you go on and head out, Annabeth? Frank and I can take it from here."

Annabeth looks up from the floor she's been mopping, finding a middle-aged woman with hair like sweet brown cinnamon twists, barely kept together at the nape of her neck. What once started a neat and put together bun evolves into the evidence of a long day's work at the bakery; Annabeth can't remember the last time Sally showed up after sunrise.

"Are you sure? I don't mind staying." She doesn't; she'd do just about anything for her boss.

The woman smiles sweetly, taking the mop and shooing her fingers away when she attempts to retrieve it. "You've been here since noon. I know you've got that test Wednesday morning, and _you_ know that school comes before work."

Sighing something fond, Annabeth offers a tiny smile. "Just let me finish wiping down the cooling racks." Sally allows it.

Cleaning up after closing time is sugar-sweet catharsis. She enjoys scrubbing away the hardened globs of frosting and residual flour that accumulates over the day, mostly because she can almost begin to transfer the gratification of wiping the kitchen clean to matters of her personal life—like working hard in Sally's Bakery will somehow justify her impulsive decision to start her life anew in the heart of New York.

She's long gone from her home in San Francisco.

As she loops the excess fabric of the dish towel around her wrist to keep it out of the way, Sally speaks again. "So, do you know if you'll make it to the Christmas party next weekend? I'm really looking forward to introducing you to Percy after all this time."

Annabeth lowers her head, the already sparkling racks now suddenly in need of a good scrub. Nervous warmth spreads through her chest and turns her cheeks pink. "I'm sure he's as thrilled as I am," she mutters, not particularly meaning to be heard.

"Oh, don't you worry. I've already told him all about you." Sally brushes a few crumbs off the countertop into her hand, tossing them into the nearby bin. "He's a little shy to the idea, like you, but he has no reason to miss this. I've made sure of it."

For a moment, Annabeth is almost glad Sally isn't her mother, (although she knows that would have been a blessing she could only dream of) because there's no way Percy could pull off disappointing his mother; there's no way he could get out of this as easily as she could.

Well…

"—I just _know_ you two could be something really special."

Maybe not _so_ easily.

The awkwardness of her boss trying to set her up with her son is unsettling, and had it been anyone else but Sally, Annabeth would have saluted them on her way out the door. But Sally isn't one to brag, and if there's one thing at least everyone knows she's proud of, it's her son and her bakery.

Now, it's not that Annabeth doesn't believe Sally when she speaks of Percy—of his compassion, his kindness. Of his loyalty. She just—How can she measure up to him? Any specimen related to the angel of a human that is her boss is inherently too good to be with anyone, let alone broke, college student without a clue about life, _Annabeth_. And if this boy miraculously saw past all of her faults like Sally does, and they begin something that sours over time, how could she face her, knowing she hadn't been as right and good as she once thought?

When Sally inevitably sides with her son—the son who's made of gold—where does it leave Annabeth? The lowly steel, forged from childhood-built anger and a bone to pick with the surrounding world. There are things that Annabeth just isn't brave enough to gamble.

"I know he has to be as great as you say he is," she says, sighing. "But I don't want you to be disappointed if it doesn't work out. Sometimes I think relationships just aren't in the cards for me."

Sally's look is entirely too knowing, forcing Annabeth to hold back an embarrassed groan.

"You'll never know if you don't deal the hand."

* * *

It's later that night when her three blankets just aren't keeping her warm, the tips of her toes numbing in the chilled air of her tiny apartment (because she's too damn broke to keep the heat on for more than a few hours a day and she'll be damned to waste them in her sleep—she's a trooper, she tells herself. She'll make it.)

Annabeth needs to feel heat prickle her skin again, if only until she falls asleep.

The screen of her cell phone blinds her in the dark room, a glare that feels almost like ridicule. She ignores it, scrolling through her contact list until she's hit with a beat of shame as she reads off "Something Jackson." Because for the life of her, she can't remember his goddamned first name. The night was hazy and fast paced and wonderful, but the note he'd given her had been smudged at the hands of her early morning coffee and she was only able to salvage the last name and the important part of the phone number. It's too late to ask now—she doesn't think she'll ever need it, but part of her feels like she owes this guy that respect. He's been a bit of a lifesaver.

 _please get naked, today was crazy_

His reply comes within minutes, like she expected.

 _do u want pics or do u want therapy_

 _bc im willing to give either_

She laughs out loud and doesn't hesitate because there's no one around to make her feel embarrassed about it. Sometimes it seemed as if she wouldn't even need to ask for the picture; he's good at making her smile without meaning to. But there's no way she's going to mention her boss wanting to introduce her as the perfect match for her son, and feeling like she can't live up to that role.

 _might as well just go for the pic, i'm still in denial about my mental state crumbling :)_

Although she'd only met him once, she's reached out to him a couple of times since then, and he's yet to disappoint. It's nice to have a someone out there, happily simmering on the back burner until she calls. (Especially since he's got free therapy sitting between his legs.)

 _coming atcha_

 _Attachment: 1 Image_

It takes a moment for the photo to load—a drawback of freeloading off her neighbor's wifi—but when it does, she sighs a sound of contentment, hand moving smoothly between her legs to release something his picture has begun to build inside of her. Before it's too late in the game, she sends a text back to him.

 _thanks, you're the best :D_

A blush wells in her chest, but there aren't many ways for her to thank him without feeling somewhat awkward.

 _anytime. ur wish is my command_

The message forces a quick laugh out of her, because it's got the crystal ball emoji tacked onto the end, and she just—He's such a goofball.

 _ok if i repay the favor?_

She prepares a picture in the time it takes for him to respond, anticipating the outcome, but still feeling it was polite to ask first.

 _i mean if ur offering_

 _please_

With a humming chuckle that comes from deep in her chest—one that feels something she equates to warmth—she attaches the image and presses send, eager to get back to the real business.

That night, she falls asleep with sweat lining her temples, no memory of the cold.

* * *

Sally's Bakery is closed for the Sunday she hosts the Christmas party; she's the boss and she can close up shop whenever she wants to, but for some reason or another, Annabeth can't help but feel like it's a pretty bad ass move from a muffin like Sally Jackson. Though, admirable, all the same.

Dread coils in her stomach like swallowing Icy-Hot, she's back and forth between fighting off her nerves and wanting to hide behind the snack table. (Which wouldn't be hard considering the whole shop is decked out with holiday-themed treats.) In the meantime, she strikes up a conversation with her coworker, Frank, who's the go-to heavy lifter. He's got the stature and build of a bodybuilder, but on the inside, he's all fluff—a human teddy bear.

They're admiring a string of snowflakes hanging down from the ceiling when Sally approaches from behind, lightly laying a hand on both of their forearms. "I'm so happy you made it, guys!" she cheers. "Don't forget to eat; we've got plenty of food, so don't be shy!"

Annabeth laughs as Sally sways off to greet more of her guests. Another one of the baker's joins in on her conversation with Frank, her smile wide and welcoming as she takes in the effort Sally put into decorating the place.

"She's always working too hard," Hazel inputs affectionately. "But I've got to admit, this place looks better than Times Sqaure on Christmas Eve." Annabeth agrees wholeheartedly, the shop is personalized and welcoming like no other place could hope to achieve.

When Sally comes back around again, stuffing sugar cookies in their hands—because according to her, they should not be empty handed—they compliment her hosting skills.

She waves them off with a blush. "It's nothing special. The least I could do for my family."

Annabeth feels a squeeze in her heart at the implication and suddenly she's glad she decided not to pay the airfare to travel back to California this holiday. Because there's no place comparable to the home she feels in this little bakery. "How in the world did you find time to do this?" Hazel asks in astonishment, spreading her arms to enunciate the sheer abundance of holiday cheer threatening to choke them in the only way Annabeth could say she'd be happily smothered by.

Sally's smile is both parts proud and gratified—she looks behind her, as if searching for someone. "Oh, you know I couldn't have done this myself. Percy's such a great help to me. I'm lucky to have him."

 _Close_. She'd almost forgotten about the plans Sally had for her tonight. Stress mounted heavily in the pit of her stomach, pushing aside nerves and anxiety. She'd need a drink after this was done, but… there was something even better waiting for her on the other end of her cell phone, and she's already making plans to shoot him a text as soon as she's curled into the safety of her covers.

Frank grins. "I thought I saw him sneaking around here. Between us, I have a feeling he's in hiding."

With a jolt, Annabeth realizes it's _her_ this guy's hiding from. She doesn't blame him; maybe they could avoid each other for the rest of the night if she were that lucky. But she knows she isn't and she also knows that Sally won't give up so easily.

Her boss laughs a musical sound. "He was never good at hide-and-seek growing up." She gestures to a lone hand reaching out stealthily from behind a group of people to a table full of blue, snowflake cupcakes. "Percy!" she calls in amusement. The hand freezes.

"Caught blue-handed," Frank mutters under his breath. Annabeth spares a halfhearted glare, wondering if she could sneak off to the bathroom before anyone noticed she'd fled.

The thought dies as soon as Sally's delicate fingers circle her wrist and tug her toward that lone hand, which has now grown a body, slinking out from behind a group of people Annabeth knows to be some of Sally's most loyal customers.

Her eyes start at his feet, and as they slowly work their way up (not admiring what she's taking in, of course not), she comes into contact with a face that's—Well, with a face she's seen before, even if it doesn't immediately hit her.

At first she's not sure where she's seen him, but when those soft green eyes meet hers, widening comically in response, she's bombarded with memories of a late night in a strange apartment with a glorious man cradled between her legs.

He stumbles backwards, catching himself on the very table that had blown his cover.

But there's no way.

None.

"Annabeth, this is my son Percy. Percy, Annabeth."

Something Jackson has a name, and it's goddamn familiar.

Fuck.

He clears his throat before thrusting a hand out; she finds it sweaty when she shakes it. "It's a pleasure," he says, his throat working around the word.

"Pleasure's mine," she says, equally struggling, because _yes it was_ and always is when it comes to him.

Percy seems to read her thoughts, as his throat bobs.

The look Sally shares between them is nothing less than hopeful against all odds, and Annabeth swears she sees wedding bells and baby's rattles in the gleam of her eyes. Despite her shock, the most pressing feeling that descends upon her is internal annoyance, red hot frustration, because how in the _fuck_ did she not make that connection? She shoots Sally a glance, one she hopes says "Please give me some privacy to get to know your son," rather than, "I already have and it was earth-shattering."

Sally winks, not so slyly, and backs away with a grin. "I have to go feed cousin Robby, I don't think he's eaten anything yet." She says it like it's a sin, and with her, Annabeth might just believe it.

Percy's hand wraps around her elbow, leading her into an empty pocket of space by those blue cupcakes. He eyes them, before turning to her, shock coating his features like a second skin.

"You never said you knew my mom."

Annabeth scoffs. "Before this, I hardly knew your name, let alone who your mom was."

"Yeah, yeah," he sighs, running his fingers through his hair. She hopes it's not obvious that her eyes follow the movement, wishing she could do the same, at least one more time. "I wasn't prepared for this from any angle. Although I can't say it's miserable to see you in person again."

She ignores the sudden weightlessness in her chest. "You... all along?" This guy isn't rotten perfection. He's never once made her feel unworthy—he couldn't. It's with him that she's truly felt like she could be gold, right alongside him. He's her Something Jackson.

The low tone of his voice dissolves her thoughts, focusing her attentions. "Oh, God, you can't tell my mom I'm not a virgin." His look his pleading, tortured, but it soon jumps to her in alarm. "—Jeez, actually, don't mention anything we've ever done together."

Annabeth knows he's serious, but can't hold back the laugh. He's always making her laugh. "Trust me, I didn't plan on it. She's not going to find out, Percy, she's going to think we've only met today."

His shoulders droop a little like relief, and she has another thought. "I don't see how you could fool anyone into thinking you're a virgin. Far from it."

A hot red blush floods his cheeks and swims down the exposed skin of his neck. "What are the odds that _you're_ the 'absolute dream of a girl' my mom's always talking about?"

"Not in your favor," she says, smirking. "Or maybe they are, depending on how you look at it. I was planning on texting you tonight."

Finally, he smiles, a sweet little chuckle escaping his lips. "I would have welcomed it dearly."

"Like you always do."

"Well, it's not like I can resist you," he answers offhandedly, like he isn't aware that he's sent a swarm of butterflies flapping wild in her stomach. His eyes jump up to hers, and he lets out a goofy grin that she feels from the soles of her feet to the brim of her skull.

Turning away again, he slips a cupcake off the table, unwrapping it and offering her half. A truce. "I've gotta say, Annabeth, out of all the people I imagined my mom bringing in here tonight, I can't say I'm all that disappointed."

She laughs, throaty and loud, because there's no one around to make her feel embarrassed about it. "In a weird way," she admits. "This was the best it could have gone for me."

The skin of his nose wrinkles as he smiles at her and—God he's so cute. "Ditto."

Humming, she knocks her half of the cupcake with his in cheers. "You know, your mom would probably be thrilled to see us leave together. And I don't hate coffee."

Percy grins, blue frosting smeared above his lip after he takes a bite and Annabeth doesn't know why it's so fucking endearing.

"I'd be thrilled, too."

* * *

 **i'm glad my first fic as a legal adult is about dicks**

 **AU by tumblr user mickeyed, prompted by tumblr user somethingmorecreative1 (my girl rach what up)**

 **i'll think of a real summary later**


End file.
